Murtlap Essence
by hiccups-and-sighs
Summary: Newt Scamander has a habit of waking Elsie up in the middle of the night. Not that she minds, of course. Healing his cuts and bruises is her specialty. Especially when things aren't exactly legal. Rated T for blood mention. No romance. Canon pairings.
1. 12:42am, 1912

**a/n: This story will not have a romantic plot. All pairings are canon. I don't own anything except my original character.  
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Hufflepuff common room

12:42 am, 1912

A lone figure stirred by the fireplace.

With a yawn and a shiver, Elsie blinked awake, trying to adjust her eyes to the dark of the Hufflepuff common room. She looked down at her lap where her Herbology notes still sat, unread, and she still had not edited her potions essay. The realization struck her:

No one had woken her up.

Fuming, she shuffled the parchment in her lap. She sat up straight. Her neck was stiff from falling asleep sitting up, and her back ached from her corset. There was nothing for it; she would have to go to bed.

She tucked her notes into her textbook, preparing to go to her dormitory, when the door to the common room opened. A boy stumbled inside, panting, completely oblivious to the fact that he was not alone in the common room. He paused for a moment, breathing heavily and leaning on the entrance door. He turned and headed across the room in the direction of the boys' dorms.

"Excuse me!" Elsie called after him. She couldn't let his late night escapade go unpunished. She was a prefect, after all.

The boy froze mid-step, like a startled animal. Elsie stood and made her way over to him, ready to dole out a punishment…or at least a warning.

"You're—" she began, but her words caught in her throat once she drew nearer to him.

The younger boy had nasty burns on his hands and a black scorch mark on the sleeve of his shirt. He turned his face towards the light of the fireplace and Elsie could see that his cheek had been badly burned as well.

"You're hurt!" she gasped. The boy didn't reply, and instead looked down at his muddy boots.

"What happened?" she asked, though she suspected she knew the answer. The fresh mud on his boots was enough to tell her that he had been outside. As to the burns, however…

"Fire crabs," the boy answered. Elsie waited for the rest of his response, but when none came, nodded once and led him to her newly vacated seat by the fire.

"Stay there," she commanded, and she ran towards the girls' dormitories.

She returned not a minute later with a small basket. She pulled several candles from it and lit them with a flick of her wand, allowing them to float gently around her and cast more light on his injuries.

"What's your name?" she asked him. She took one of his burnt hands in hers, holding it up to the light and examining it closely.

"N-Newt Scamander," he replied, watching her warily. She did her best to smile encouragingly at him.

"I'm—"

"Elsie DuBois," he finished for her, cutting her off. "You're a prefect," he added quickly, as if to explain. Of course he knew who she was.

Elsie eyed him carefully for a moment.

"You were breaking curfew," she pointed out. She reached down into her basket and pulled out a rag and a glass vial of yellow liquid.

"I always break curfew," he mumbled, not daring to meet her eyes. She pretended not to hear him. If he had gone this long without ever being caught (and was only caught due to her own over-sleeping), far be it from her to stop him. Yes she was a prefect, but she knew that rules were meant to be bent.

"You ought to be more careful with fire crabs," Elsie told him instead. "You know Professor Kettleburn is quite protective of his collection. He wouldn't be too pleased to find you messing about with the ones he intends to breed."

This was not the discipline Newt had been expecting. He hadn't anticipated such a gentle reprimand, and he certainly hadn't expected to have his wounds tended to by an older student.

"Kettleburn won't notice," he said, watching Elsie as she swept a strand of dark hair out of her eyes. Her uniform was wrinkled and disheveled, her hair falling out of the twist at the base of her neck and the sleeves of her blouse rolled up to her elbows. He had never seen an older student in such a state of relative undress, much less a prefect. He had no doubt that she would be in trouble had they not been alone in the common room.

Elsie dabbed some of the yellow liquid onto his hand and he couldn't hold back a sigh of relief as the searing pain from his burn dissipated.

"Murtlap essence," Elsie told him before he had a chance to ask. A small smile played about her lips as she watched the relief wash across his face. She dabbed more onto his hand and switched to the other.

"Made from murtlap tentacles?" Newt asked curiously.

"Pickled and strained," she confirmed. "I'm always looking for more," she added. "It's dead useful for cuts and scrapes, but unfortunately rather expensive." She finished dabbing the essence onto his other hand and reached back into her basket. She pulled out a jar of bright orange salve.

"You're Theseus's brother, aren't you?" she asked Newt. He recoiled his hand quickly at that, pulling away from her grasp.

"Sorry," she said quickly, holding her hands out in front of her helplessly. Newt made no move to return his hand to her and instead glared at her suspiciously. Elsie sighed. The two sat in silence for a moment, each unsure of how to proceed.

"I have four older sisters," Elsie said suddenly, breaking the silence. She stared at her hands in her lap, which were covered in murlap essence and Newt Scamander's blood. "And all four of them are much prettier and much more talented than me. And all of them were in Gryffindor. Like my parents." She paused and twisted her hands.

"What I'm saying is…I know what it's like to feel overshadowed," she told him. "And I wish I had some way of making you feel differently, but I honestly don't right now. I'm still trying to figure it out for myself." She glanced up and caught his eye.

"But if you want to have the use of your hands sometime in the next week, there's still work I need to do on them," she added fiercely.

Slowly, Newt reached his hand out to her again. She took it and began to dab the thick, orange paste onto his burns.

"Are you friends with him?" Newt asked her after a long silence between them. Elsie had begun to bandage one of his hands while the other lay, sticky and orange, in his lap.

"Hmn?" she asked, not taking her eyes off her handiwork.

"My brother, I mean," he clarified. Did she detect a trace of bitterness in his voice?

"Oh, no," she assured him quickly. "Not really. Well you know sixth years have classes with Gryffindors, too, and we're both prefects, so I see him sometimes, but…no. I wouldn't call him a friend."

Newt relaxed at this.

"We don't really get on," he admitted softly, averting his eyes again.

"I'd noticed," she replied carefully. "You're two very different people, and Theseus—well…he's not really my type."

They fell into a comfortable silence once more, and Newt basked in the compliment he had just received.

"You're very good at this," he told her honestly as she finished bandaging his other hand. She tried to hide it, but Newt could tell she was glowing with pride.

"I'm going to be a healer," she said excitedly. "Well—once I pass my N.E. next year."

Newt hummed in response, letting her carefully look over the bandages on his hands before turning her attention to his face. She took his chin in her hand, gently pulling it towards the light. Newt wasn't used to someone being this close to his face, and he looked determinedly at the ceiling as Elsie examined the burn on his cheek.

"What about you?" she asked him, her face still very close to his.

"Hmn?" he asked, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling.

"What do you want to do after Hogwarts?" she asked, pulling out the murtlap essence again and dabbing it on his cheek. "You go for O. next year, don't you? You must've thought about it."

"I just want to work with creatures," he said after a minute's contemplation. "I've never thought about anything else."

"Haven't had enough fire crabs, then, have you?" she asked with a chuckle, still cleaning his wound.

"Misunderstood creatures," he muttered sheepishly. "I wouldn't have gotten hurt if I approached them more carefully…"

"I hear the trick is to approach from the front," Elsie added. "Though I can't speak as much of an expert. I only got an Acceptable in Care of Magical Creatures." She began to dab the thick orange salve onto Newt's face and he winced slightly at the pressure on his burn.

"I'm afraid you'll have to keep a bandage on your cheek for the night," she told him, pulling cotton gauze and tape from her basket. "Though the burn should be healed by tomorrow morning, so not much harm done."

"You could've sent me to the hospital wing," he pointed out as she applied the bandage to his face.

"Yes, I suppose I could have," she agreed, "but then Madame Adebayo would have given you a detention for being out of bed. And who knows what Kettleburn would have done once he found out you'd been messing with his fire crabs."

Newt supposed she had a fair point. If he'd lost points, all of Hufflepuff would know, and they'd blame him for losing their lead for the house cup. Of course, he also had the suspicion that Elsie just wanted to practice her healing, but he found that he didn't really mind.

"You know you can come to me if this happens again," Elsie told him once she finished patching him up. "I may be a prefect, but I can still keep some secrets."

He nodded jerkily, suddenly uncomfortable with their interaction. He hadn't realized how much he had actually told her.

"Thank you, Elsie," he said, giving her an uncertain smile. "I appreciate it."

"My door is always open, Newt Scamander," she replied, mirroring his smile. She watched the boy leave the common room before packing away her things, finally ready for bed.

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 **Review, please! Next chapter will be up soon. Suggestions for future scenes to portray in upcoming chapters welcome and encouraged.**  
 **x**


	2. 2:06 am, 1913

**a/n: Chapter 2 finally up, and a tad more exciting. I own nothing but my OC.**

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Hufflepuff seventh year girls' dormitory

2:06 am, 1913

"Elsie? _Elsie wake up_!" Someone was shaking her awake.

"Whasgoinon?" Elsie mumbled, blinking heavily into the dark room

"Elsie, I need your help in the common room. _Now_!" someone said in a panicked whisper beside her. Elsie squinted into the darkness to no avail.

"Newt?" she asked, confused. "What-?" With a jolt, she woke up fully, adrenaline beginning to pump through her veins. She sat bolt upright and scrambled to untangle herself from her blankets.

"Are you hurt?" she asked quickly.

"No. Someone else. In the common room. _Elsie, please, quickly_!" he begged. Using the dim moonlight coming in through the round window, she tugged her dressing robe on over her nightgown and pulled a wooden box from under her four-poster bed.

"Carry this," she instructed Newt. She handed him the box and ran ahead of him to the common room.

Once there, the only light came from the dying fire in the fireplace, but she could still make out a second figure standing and waiting for them.

"What is _she_ doing here?" Elsie asked, pointing to a Slytherin. Leta Lestrange stood nervously next to the large sofa, looking out of place in the warm glow of the fire. "She's not supposed to be in here."

"Elsie," Newt pleaded as he beckoned her to the other side of the sofa, and he sat her box of medical supplies. She followed him, and took in a sharp breath at the scene before her.

" _What have you done_?"

A boy the same age as Leta and Newt lay on the sofa, blood pouring from a wound at his neck, his face white as a sheet. Without waiting for a response, Elsie dove towards her medical kit, pulling out scraps of fabric and pressing them against the boy's neck. As blood soaked the rags and began to run down her arms, she pulled her robe off to use it to collect the blood.

"Can you help him?" Newt asked desperately, watching her dig through her supplies.

"Did he faint from the blood?" Elsie countered.

"Erm. No," he said in response, looking sheepish. Elsie raised her eyebrows, confusion written on her face.

"We," Newt paused glanced at the Slytherin girl, still standing at a distance. "We actually…stunned him."

"And _what_ , exactly, were you planning on telling him once he woke up?" Elsie demanded. She looked over her shoulder at him and Leta, not bothering to hide her glare.

"We'll obliviate him," Leta responded quickly. "He won't remember any of this."

"You can't just obliviate a boy you've almost killed!" Elsie exploded angrily, causing the other two to jump in surprise. "Even the easiest of wounds can't heal without scars! Did you think of that?" Neither answered. Elsie turned back to her patient, who was still losing blood at an alarming rate.

Help me hold this," she ordered Newt and he leapt to her side. He took over pressing against the wound as Elsie pulled out a familiar bottle of murtlap essence. With shaking hands, she unstopped it and poured it over the gaping wound.

"I don't have enough—" she began, but Newt quickly handed her a second bottle filled with yellow liquid. "Murtlap Essence" was scrawled on a parchment label in his own hand. Without another word, she poured it over the rest of the wound, cleaning enough of the blood for her to see more clearly: bite marks.

She grabbed her wand, which had been tossed aside in the panic, and held it above the deep lacerations. She muttered complex incantations with a furrowed brow, concentrating on her wand movements like she had been taught. There was a flash of white light, and for a moment, Elsie thought that she had stopped the blood.

But she had not.

It continued to pool from the poor boy's neck, soaking her robe and her night down. Her hand slipped as she struggled to hold onto her wand.

"What kind of bite is this?" she asked Newt as she repeated her wand movements from before. Maybe she had just done something wrong. Her hands trembled as she moved them again.

"It was a—"

" _Newt_!" Leta Lestrange interjected. "You can't tell her! I'll get in trouble!"

Newt paused and looked guiltily at Elsie, obviously torn.

"Newt, if you want me to save him I need to know what kind of bite this is," Elsie told him seriously, staring him in the eye. She needed him to do the right thing.

"…It was a jarvey," he admitted.

"What? Can't be, it's much too big—"

"It was a rather large jarvey."

Elsie stared at him, unsure if he was serious. When she realized he was, she swore, not bothering to be polite.

"Can't you just magic him better?" Leta asked desperately. "My mum could fix a scraped knee in about a second."

"It doesn't work like that," Elsie snapped, beginning to panic. "Magical wounds heal differently. Cat bites wouldn't be a problem. Even a kneazle I could heal without trouble. But a _jarvey_ …?" She sighed heavily and rubbed her temples, smearing blood on her face as she did so. She looked near tears.

"Get Leta out of here," she told Newt quietly after a moment of silence.

"What?" the younger girl asked, shocked. "No, I'm not leaving Newt alone with this!"

"He'll be in even more trouble if they find you in the common room," Elsie explained. Newt looked to her, pale and distraught, and nodded.

"Go back to the dungeon, Leta," he told her softly. "I'll take it from here."

Leta reluctantly turned towards the door, leaving Elsie and Newt alone with the wounded boy.

"Newt, I need you to go wake Lloyd Chambers from the seventh year dorms," Elsie said. "Tell him I said to go get Madame Adebayo immediately."

" _You can't get the nurse_!" Leta cried shrilly from the entrance to the common room. "You're going to get us all expelled!"

"Leta, you've caused enough damage as it is; leave before they find you down here," Elsie told her forcefully, trying to remain as calm as possible. With a huff, Leta slammed the door behind her. Once Leta had gone, Elsie turned back to Newt.

"Please get Lloyd," she asked him, a pleading look in her eye. "His wounds are too deep—I can't save him alone." Their eyes locked once more, and Newt sprinted into the boys' dormitories.

After what seemed like an age, but was really only a minute or two, he returned, followed by a disheveled looking prefect.

"Elsie?" Lloyd asked, shocked and confused at the scene that lay before him.

"Go get Professor Chadwick and Madam Adebayo," Elsie told him.

"What about Theseus?" he asked.

" _No_ ," Elsie said.

"But he's Head Boy!"

"Leave Theseus to me, Lloyd," she insisted. "Just get Chadwick and Adebayo. _Now_!"

The next several minutes were a blur. The head of Hufflepuff Professor Chadwick, the school nurse Madame Adebayo, and Headmaster Black were all in and out of the common room in a frantic hurry. Elsie and Newt were mostly shuffled to the side as the adults took control of the situation. They watched as all three professors worked to stabilize the injured boy, only stopping to ask what exactly had caused the bite.

Newt stood next to Elsie, shaking violently, tears making tracks down his blood-stained cheeks as they watched the professors work. Even though he was already much taller than her, Elsie enveloped the younger boy in a protective embrace and let him sob into her shoulder.

"You did the right thing, in the end," she assured him, trying to comfort him by stroking his auburn hair lightly.

Finally, as dawn began to peek through the window, Madame Adebayo prepared to move the boy to the Hospital Wing, and Professors Chadwick and Black rounded on the two students.

"Where do we even begin?" Professor Chadwick said, glowering down at Newt and Elsie.

" _Where to begin, indeed_ ," Professor Black agreed, trembling with rage. "I trust I need not tell you two how much trouble you are in?" Newt stared at his feet, and Elsie followed suit.

"Miss DuBois, I have a mind to rescind your Head Girl badge," he continued scathingly, "for such reckless behavior!"

"But Professor—" Elsie started, trying to explain. She hadn't done anything; she'd only tried to help.

"In fact, I think it best that both of you be expelled—"

"Phineas, _please_ ," a calm voice interrupted from the door. Elsie and Newt looked up to see Professor Dumbledore striding across the room towards them wearing a magnificent magenta dressing gown.

"Albus." Professor Black seemed less than enthused to see the transfiguration teacher. "This is not a matter for you to stick your nose in. What happened here tonight is between—"

"Miss DuBois and Mr. Scamander, yes Head Master, I know." Dumbledore's gaze crossed the two students, his eyes twinkling with something neither could quite place.

"As Assistant Head Master, I believe I can take it from here, don't you? At least preliminarily," Dumbledore said airily. "I daresay you've had a rather rough night, and both you and I know your judgement would be better after a good night's rest, Phineas."

Black scowled at Dumbledore, but couldn't seem to think of an argument.

"Well alright then," he conceded. "But only if Chadwick agrees." Professor Chadwick quickly agreed to letting Dumbledore handle the students in favor of getting back to bed.

"Then it's decided." Dumbledore turned to Elsie and Newt. "Miss DuBois, Mr. Scamander; with me, if you please."

Elsie and Newt numbly followed the professor out of the Hufflepuff common room and up a flight of stairs to the first floor corridor. Elsie gave Newt's arm a reassuring squeeze as they entered Dumbledore's small office, where a large, welcoming fire already burned in wait for them.

Dumbledore motioned for both of them to sit, and he began to pour tea into porcelain tea cups on his desk.

"Oh, I do apologize, Miss DuBois," he said, turning to her with a cup in his hand. With a flick of his wand, a second dressing robe, this one turquoise blue, floated from his wardrobe and onto her lap. She eagerly put in on, welcoming the privacy from her thin and blood-soaked nightgown.

"Now," Professor Dumbledore said calmly, sitting down behind his desk after making sure Newt and Elsie had tea. "I think it's time we heard what happened."

Elsie looked to Newt, who in turn stared into his tea.

"It was a jarvey," he finally said, voice barely above a whisper. "There was a jarvey, and Ruadhán found it, and it attacked him."

"Mr. Hull's injuries seemed quite extensive for merely a jarvey," Dumbledore pointed out.

"…It was a large jarvey," Newt explained tentatively. "It had been… _experimented_ on."

"I see…" Dumbledore peered over the rim of his half-moon spectacles at the young boy, managing not to betray any emotion. "And who, might I ask, had been experimenting on this Jarvey?"

Newt chewed on his lower lip and sent a nervous glance to Elsie. With that, she knew. It was Leta's jarvey, and Leta's experiment.

"I had, Professor Dumbledore," Newt admitted. Elsie pursed her lips, willing herself not to interject. The boy was too loyal for his own good, and Elsie had no doubt that Leta would not have done the same for him.

"Ah," the professor said, raising his eyebrows slightly. Newt knew he didn't believe him. Something in his twinkling blue eyes made it difficult for him to lie.

"Ruadhán suspected that we— that _I_ —was doing something against the rules, so he followed me out of the castle last night," Newt continued, deciding not to meet Dumbledore's eyes. "The jarvey got loose, and, well…it bit him…"

"And how did you get Mr. Hull back into the castle?" Professor Dumbledore asked mildly. "If I'm not mistaken, Ruadhán is a beater for the Gryffindor team, and though I don't doubt your strength Mr. Scamander, I doubt you could have carried him all the way to the castle and the common room without help."

Newt gaped at him, at a loss for words. He had no answer to that. He had been found out.

"He came to me, Professor Dumbledore," Elsie said bravely, trying to ignore the shocked look Newt gave her. "He woke me, since I'm Head Girl, and asked me to help get Ruadhán to the common room. I thought…" she trailed off, her lower lip trembling, and tears spilled down her cheeks for the first time that night. "I thought I could save him," she finished lamely.

"And you did," Dumbledore told her, to her surprise. "Madame Adebayo informed me that things would have ended quite differently for Mr. Hull had you not tended to him as quickly as you did." He gave her a reassuring smile. "Shall we say…twenty points to Hufflepuff? For the inspired use of essence of murtlap."

Elsie merely nodded, shocked. How could he be giving her house points for nearly killing a student?

"Seeing as your only crime was fulfilling your duties as Head Girl, Miss DuBois, I see no reason to keep you under more intense interrogation," Dumbledore continued. He drew a quill and scratched something onto a sheet of parchment at his desk. "Rest assured, your status as Head Girl will remain intact, as will your place as a student here at Hogwarts. I will inform Headmaster Black of my decision, and will excuse you from your lessons today. I suggest you go back to your room, clean up, and get some well-deserved rest."

Elsie got to her feet shakily, feeling as though she was in a dream.

"What about Newt?" she asked, looking at her counterpart, still seated and brooding over his tea.

"I'm afraid Mr. Scamander will have to stay for a while longer. There are still more questions to be answered, in his case."

Elsie turned to leave the office, spinning around briefly when she remembered she was still wearing Dumbledore's dressing gown.

"You may keep the gown, Miss DuBois," he told her, as if reading her mind. "I daresay turquoise has never been my color."

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 **Please review! Next chapter up in a week or so. Recommendations of future chapters welcome.**  
 **x**


	3. 1:15am, 1917

**Apologies for the delay. This chapter has not been edited yet, either, since my editor is out of town. I own nothing except Elsie DuBois**

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Anglo-Belgian British Farmer's Casualty Clearing Station  
Calais, France

1:15am, 1917

It was late when Elsie arrived in France. After taking a portkey from London to Calais, she and her traveling companion approached the casualty clearing station. Dim lights lead them down the path towards the gate. At the sound of a plane overhead, Elsie instinctively clutched her wand hidden in the pocket of her apron.

"Not to worry," her companion told her softly as they neared the guarded entrance. "We won't be here long." She knew she shouldn't be worried-he was an auror after all—but something in the way the trees moved made her uneasy.

"Halt!" a soldier shouted at them from the makeshift gate. He shined a torch at the two strangers once they stopped.

"We are unarmed!" Elsie's companion called back, raising his hands. Elsie dropped her bag of supplies and did the same. "We have an invitation from Colonel Houlihan!" The soldier beckoned them closer.

"Identification?" he demanded, and they both pulled out their papers.

"Major Clarence Nguyen and Doctor Eloise DuBois," Clarence told the soldier, who leafed through their qualifications. "As I said, Colonel Houlihan is expecting us." Clarence handed the soldier a folded telegram, but he seemed to be more interested in their papers.

" _Doctor_ DuBois?" he asked Elsie suspiciously. "Birds ain't doctors 'round here."

"Where we come from, they are," Clarence assured him coolly before Elsie could answer.

"You got some funny lookin' uniforms," he commented, giving them both a once-over before opening the telegram Clarence handed him. "Oi, Baker!" he called over his shoulder to a second patrolman. "Go get Houlihan."

The second soldier, Baker, sprinted off to get the colonel, leaving the two strangers alone with the guard.

"So what's the point of purple uniforms, then?" he asked them, eyeing both curiously. "Can't hide from no one in them, can you?"

"They are our colors," Clarence responded. "And we have other ways of hiding if we need to."

"Oh yeah? What's those then-?"

"Burns! Don't ask questions!" A man with fiery red hair peeking out from under his officer's cap approached the gate. Burns saluted the major and stepped aside to let him pass.

"Major Nguyen, Dr. DuBois," he greeted the pair with a nod of his head. "I've been expecting you." He moved the gate aside to let the two pass.

"We came as soon as we could, Colonel," Clarence told him.

"Right," Houlihan said, looking a bit uncomfortable. He patted the breast of his jacket absentmindedly. "I've instruction from General Haig not to ask questions, so I won't. But I'm not happy about it." He glared severely at the two of them. Elsie fought her instinct to recoil and kept her head high while Clarence maintained the calm, confident look he always had.

"We thank you for your cooperation, Colonel," he told him politely.

"Right. Well. Follow me. Your man's in triage." Houlihan made an abrupt about-face and led the two to a large, unsteady looking building at the center of camp. He opened a rickety door and ushered the two into a crowded hallway bathed in flickering electric light.

Cots full of wounded soldiers lined the hallway. The sound of moans and muffled sobs echoed around the passage and there was the unmistakable smell of blood and rot in the air. Clarence and Elsie looked even more out of place in the harsh electric light; their purple uniforms drew attention from the conscious soldiers closest to them.

Almost as soon as they were inside, a man in a blood-stained surgical gown approached the trio.

"Colonel Houlihan?" the surgeon said in surprise. "Who are these people?" He gave Elsie and Clarence the familiar once-over, gawking at their bright uniforms.

"No questions, Honeycutt," Houlihan told him.

"But, sir-?"

"Haig's orders." Houlihan pulled a telegram and a letter from his breast pocket and handed them to the confused surgeon, who read them quickly.

"And the prime minister's, apparently," Honeycutt muttered, glancing up from the second letter to give the two a disapproving stare. "You must be here for the young man over here," he said, leading them quickly down the hallway to a cot where a soldier in a familiar purple uniform lay. Elsie immediately dropped to her knees beside the feebly moving body.

"You're to give these two whatever they require, do I make myself clear, Major?" Houlihan instructed Honeycutt.

"Whatever they need? Sir, this man needs medical attention!" the major insisted, pointing at the purple-clad patient.

"Which is why Dr. DuBois has come." Houlihan gestured to Elsie, who had begun to assess the soldier's wounds.

" _Doctor_?" Honeycutt asked incredulously.

"Don't ask questions, Honeycutt!" Houlihan snapped. "Just catch DuBois up to speed." He turned away from the surgeon and stepped down the hall while Honeycutt glared after him.

"What happened?" Elsie asked the surgeon, speaking for the first time. He shot one parting glare at Houlihan and turned to her.

"The man fell from an aeroplane, as far as we can tell," he told her. "No parachute. Fell into a tree. This—," he pointed to the heavy bandaging covering the soldier's left eye, "is probably from a branch. Fractured arm; not a problem. But he broke his leg pretty severely from the fall. Captain Pierce and I were planning to amputate as soon as there was a space in the theatre."

Elsie examined the soldier's leg. It was broken in at least two spots with white bone tearing through his blood-soaked purple trousers. Elsie frowned. It was lucky that they had gotten there before the amputation. She moved to his fractured arm and agreed with Honneycutt—it would be an easy fix. She went to take the bandages from the soldier's face, but a flash of something gold around his neck caught her eye. Carefully, she extracted golden dog tags, the ones used by the Ministry of Magic, and read his name.

"Newt!" she gasped sharply, the tags slipping from her fingers. The young man groaned in response, not yet fully conscious.

"DuBois?" Clarence asked her, noticing her shock. Elsie shook off her surprise. She needed to be focused right now.

"He can't travel like this," she told the auror so that only he could hear. "Not even by portkey."

"What do you need?" he asked. Elsie looked about anxiously.

"Elsie?" a hoarse whisper came from the wounded soldier.

"Some privacy," Elsie told Clarence honestly before turning back to Newt.

"I'm here," she told him quietly, grasping for his hand to comfort him. "There's two of us. We're going to get you out of here soon." Newt's unbandaged eye fluttered open and looked around wildly.

"What happened?" he rasped, trying to move. Elsie realized with a pang in her heart just how young Newt actually. He couldn't have been more than nineteen.

"Shh, shh, don't worry," she assured him, gently pushing against his chest to keep him lying down. "You broke your leg very badly. I need to fix it before we can move you. Right now I need you to lie still until we can move you to a more private place." Newt hummed in agreement and stopped struggling against her.

" _A table in the theatre_?" Elsie's attention was snapped back to Nguyen and Honeycutt, who were arguing. "We have men in need of urgent attention! We don't have a table to spare, much less for an amputee!" Honeycutt yelled, distraught.

"Listen, Major, these are Field Marshal Haig's orders." Clarence loomed over Honeycutt menacingly. "We need a table in the theatre and you're not to ask questions, understand?"

"I don't need a table in the theatre!" Elsie yelled over their bickering, catching the attention of the two officers. "I just need privacy!"

Nguyen and Honeycutt scowled at each other, but listened to her.

"I can set some curtains up here," Honeycutt told her, "but we're strapped for space as it is. This will have to do."

"I can work with that," she agreed.

" _Bastard_ ," Clarence swore under his breath, once the major had left.

"He's just doing his job," Elsie said, turning her attention back to Newt, who was watching the exchange from a cracked eyelid.

"All that's left is for you to do your job, DuBois," Clarence reminded her. "We need to leave by dawn."

"That won't be a problem," she assured him.

Several nurses arrived not a minute later, carrying curtains made from a metal frame and thin bedsheets. They set them up around Newt's cot, shielding him and Elsie from the prying eyes of other soldiers, doctors, and nurses.

"You should stand guard," Elsie said to Clarence, who stuck his head through the curtain at her call. "The last thing I need is to obliviate Dr. Honeycutt tonight." The auror agreed and stepped out, leaving Elsie and Newt alone.

"Are you all right?" Newt asked her as she finally took out her wand. Elsie couldn't help but smile. Trust Newt to ask if she was okay, when he was the one in harm's way.

Elsie carefully rolled up the leg of his trousers to reveal his broken leg, trying to ignore his gasps and winces of pain. The break was devastating. Without magic, the only choice would be amputation.

"Alright, Newt, I need you to give me your hand." Elsie grasped his with her free hand and squeezed it reassuringly while the other held on to her wand. "This is going to hurt. I'm very sorry." She looked into his open eye and waited until he nodded slightly before pointing her wand at the first break.

" _Episkey_."

Newt's bloodcurdling scream filled her ears and echoed through the chamber as his bone snapped back into place. She thought her own hand might break from the force he was squeezing it with. The startled murmurs from the other residents of the corridor began once his screams died down.

"I think that guy's being murdered over there!" she heard a voice say from behind her curtain.

"What are they doing to him?" came another, a bit further away.

" _What the hell was that_?" The enraged voice of Major Honeycutt sounded right outside the curtain.

"Everything is fine, Honeycutt," Elsie heard Clarence say.

" _Fine_?" Honeycutt bellowed. "Fritz can hear him in bleeding Belgium! What the hell is that girl doing in there?"

"Don't ask questions, Major," the auror reminded him.

"I'm not asking questions!" he cried, indignant. "As the head surgeon of this unit I'm _demanding_ to be let in!" There was a brief scuffle outside, disturbing the curtain slightly, and Elsie quickly hid her wand in her apron again.

"Dr. Honeycutt!" she called, stepping away from Newt and opening the curtain to face the two men, who were still struggling. The two stopped once she emerged from her alcove.

"Dr. Honeycutt, I understand that you feel personally responsible for all the men who come through your clearing station, but I _assure_ you that I am doing what is best for this man," she told the surgeon in a low, dangerous voice. "I give you my word as a doctor."

Honeycutt straightened up slightly, peering down at her as if seeing her clearly for the first time.

"If this man dies…" He gave her a pleading look, agony clearly written over his face.

"I promise you, he won't," she said, staring straight back at him. The major nodded and stepped back, giving Elsie full reign once more.

"Well done, DuBois," Clarence said mildly, giving her an encouraging smile. "You would have made a fair auror."

Elsie didn't respond and instead closed the curtains and went back to her patient.

"I'm afraid I have to do that again," she told Newt, gesturing to the other break in his leg. He groaned in response, but reached for her hand, a confirmation that he was ready to continue.

After painstakingly repairing the rest of his broken bones, Elsie tended to the smaller cuts on his body, a simple process that only involved a wave of her wand.

"Do you remember what happened?" she asked Newt as she gingerly undid the bandage covering his eye. Newt, still not very vocal, only grunted.

Instead of an injured eye, as Elsie had feared, there was a very deep gash just above his left eyebrow. The swelling around the wound had swollen his eye shut, and blood had dried to his eyelashes. She moved her wand in a more complicated pattern and muttered an incantation under her breath, but the cut didn't heal.

"What did this, Newt?" she asked him gently.

"Dragon," he said quietly. Elsie frowned. "Was hit by a Hungarian Horntail," he continued, grimacing. "Fell off my dragon. The Horntail did that." He gestured to his face vaguely with his newly healed arm.

"This will need sutures," she told him. "It won't heal with magic alone."

Newt signed heavily and pulled away from her, mumbling something she couldn't understand.

"What was that?" she asked.

"Don't like needles," he said more clearly, still avoiding her gaze.

"Newt, if it gets infected, you'll lose your eye," she said. She stepped away from him and began to remove the curtains from around his cot.

"No sense keeping secrets when it isn't necessary," she told Clarence, who looked to her curiously. "Sutures are muggle work anyway."

"Make it fast, DuBois," he responded. "It'll be dawn soon. I need to speak with Houlihan again before we leave. Think you can manage by yourself for a few minutes?"

Once the curtains had gone and Clarence had left, Elsie knelt beside Newt once more and pulled out some materials from her black bag of supplies. Newt saw a flash of yellow liquid in a vial, and knew exactly what she had planned.

Using a cotton rag, Elsie dabbed murlap essence onto his cut, smiling at Newt's visible relief. She cleaned the wound with a cold and strong smelling liquid, and began to close his wound.

"Dr. DuBois," a voice said from behind her. She turned to see Honeycutt gazing down at her, a wooden stool in one hand and a steaming cup in the other.

"I brought you this," he said rather stiffly, placing the stool and a cup of tea beside her. His form of an apology. Surprised but grateful, she moved to the stool and the other doctor knelt beside her.

"He looks almost good as new!" he said, staring from Newt to Elsie in disbelief. "How in the world did you do that?"

"Don't ask questions Dr. Honeycutt—"

"James."

Elsie paused at his sudden introduction. He gave her a small, hopeful smile.

"Please don't ask questions, James," she continued, this time more gently. "It makes my job much more difficult." He nodded stoically and settled on watching her tie the sutures on Newt's forehead instead.

"You do good work, Dr. DuBois," he told her after a minute.

"Elsie."

Their eyes met briefly and Elsie felt something unfamiliar bubble in the bottom of her stomach. James smiled again and left her to her work.

" _Doctor_ DuBois?" Newt asked her once he had gone. He gave her a lopsided smile at her use of the muggle word and Elsie found herself blushing.

"You're lucky," she told him, ignoring his knowing look. "The ministry sent their top healer to look after you."

"I'm glad they sent you," he told her honestly, trying to relax as she finished his stitches. "Have you heard anything about Theseus?" he asked carefully. Elsie paused in her search for a bandage and chewed her bottom lip, unsure of what to say.

"He's still in the field," she said finally. "Still in command. I heard he won a battle last week—don't ask me which one, I don't know." Newt didn't acknowledge this news.

"But you don't have to worry about that now," she added. "We're taking you back to London tonight, and then you'll go home to your family."

"He'll never let me hear the end of it," Newt sighed. He opened his mouth to say something else, but was cut off.

"Are we ready to leave?" Clarence appeared suddenly at the foot of Newt's cot, clearly anxious to depart. The pair nodded, and Elsie helped Newt to his feet. She put his arm around her shoulder and allowed him to lean on her for balance as they walked towards the exit.

"Elsie!" James Honeycutt ran after them, catching up just as they reached the rickety door. He handed her a scrap of paper.

"Write me?" he asked her breathlessly. "So I can find you. After the war. You know they say we'll be home by Christmas, but they say that every year, don't they. Maybe you can explain all this to me sometime."

Elsie gaped at him, lost for words.

" _DuBois_ ," Clarence urged beside her. Through the door she could see the telltale signs of an approaching dawn.

"Of course," she told James quickly, flashing a smile. And with that, she turned from him and walked into the night, side-by-side with a man he thought would never walk again.

* * *

 **Please review! Let me know what you think!**  
 **x**


	4. 3:27am, 1920

**a/n: Oh hey. Sorry this took so long. Had to make sure my life was still in line. I don't own anything except my OC.**

* * *

Somewhere in England

3:27am, 1920

Elsie awoke suddenly to the sound of knocking at her door. She stayed in bed for a moment, wondering hopefully if the noise had been a fragment of a dream. That hope was quashed when the rapping began again, this time a bit more frantic.

"Elsie!" she heard a whisper from outside. She knew immediately who it was. She let out a small huff and slipped out from the comfort of her warm bed and into her dressing robe instead. These visitations had become a habit, but one she'd be loath to give up.

"Elsie, I know it's rather late, but I _am_ losing quite a bit of blood, and I'd appreciate it if—" She opened the door to her flat to reveal a worn and beaten Newt Scamander.

"Come in," she urged quietly, pulling the injured man inside. She looked down at the carpet outside the door, stained with blood. With a furtive glance around, and a flick of her wand, it was gone.

Newt stood right inside the door, anxiously waiting for her and clutching his right forearm, where blood oozed out between his fingers.

"Sit, sit!" she insisted, leading him further into her flat. She waved her wand, and a single, dim lightbulb lit up in her miniscule kitchen. She motioned for Newt to sit down at the linoleum table while she pulled out various items: assorted candles, two porcelain basins, some rags, and a large chest which she kept under the sink.

"I-I _am_ sorry to wake you up," the young man stammered as she set out and lit the candles. "I wouldn't have come if it weren't an emergency, you know."

"It's all right," she assured him. "Let me look." She gently pried Newt's fingers off his wound as he winced. Her eyebrows knit together at the sight of the long gash on his forearm. Blood dripped down his elbow and onto the kitchen floor, but that was not her main concern.

"Okay," she sighed, opening the large chest that sat on the table and opening it up. "Since it's only the one, I think I could—"

"That's—" Newt interjected, not meeting her eyes. "That's not all," he finished. She turned her head towards him, a look of concern on her face.

"Show me," she commanded. Clamping his free hand over his arm again, Newt stood up and turned around. The back of his shirt was in tatters, where three large gouges had been cut into his back. Blood covered his back, soaking his shirt and trousers.

"Oh Newt," she sighed as he turned around to face her sheepishly. "We need to get that shirt off."

"Um, I don't—do I have to?" he asked hopefully, but the steely look in her eye made him not push the matter further. He moved gingerly to begin unbuttoning his shirt, wincing at the effort.

"Oh nevermind that," Elsie said, pulling a pair of shears from her chest and hastily cutting it off him instead. He watched helplessly as the tattered fabric left his body, exposing him and his scars to the night and to her.

Elsie, for her part, wasted no time in ripping Newt's shirt into long strips of rags. Taking his forearm once more from his grasp, she tightly wound a strip of his discarded shirt around his wound.

"Press here," she instructed, pointing to where her hand was squeezing his arm. He did as she said and turned around for her to inspect his back.

Elsie pulled a glass bottle filled with a sickly yellow liquid from her chest and poured the contents into one of the glass basins she had laid out. Newt recognized the pungent smell of murtlap essence. She quickly began dabbing it onto his wounds with a rag, instant relief from the pain flooding his senses.

"What was it this time?" she asked him while she tended to the deep scratches. She was not accusatory; merely curious. He liked that about her. She never made him feel guilty.

"Ukrainian Ironbelly," he responded, wincing as she gasped and pulled away from him.

" _Newt_!" she hissed, craning her neck to look at him from her position behind. "You're not supposed to have one of those!"

"Which is why I came to you instead of going to St. Mungo's," he pointed out, trying to turn the subject away from his illegal creature.

"You were supposed to give all of them back after the war," she reminded him, continuing to sponge murtlap onto his back to clean the wound. "I know you worked with them, but you can't just _take_ one."

"He was the runt of the litter! He was going to be killed by one of the bigger ones—what was I supposed to do?" he asked forcefully. "It's not his fault he's different from the others. …He shouldn't have to be punished for it."

Elsie paused for a moment. Somehow she sensed Newt wasn't just talking about his dragon.

"This one needs a line of sutures," she said to break the silence, pointing to the deepest gash, even though he could not see it. "How's your arm doing?"

"Do I really need the sutures?" he asked, pleadingly, ignoring her question. "Couldn't you just heal them, Elsie?"

"Newt, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times—magical wounds heal differently," she said, trying to sound exasperated. She couldn't manage it, though. In truth, she rather liked his questions. "Wands are no use here. Though I can…" she pointed her wand at the three gashes and cotton padding and surgical tape wound itself around him. "Stop the bleeding for a bit. I have a feeling that arm will need sutures, too."

Newt turned around to face her and she began the same process on his forearm, dabbing it with murtlap essence and cleaning it gently. The flat stayed quiet as she worked, the early signs of morning dawning outside the window.

She pulled out a needle and thread from her chest of medical supplies and gazed up at him woefully.

"You do need the sutures here, I'm afraid," she told him. Newt frowned and looked away.

"You'll be fine," she assured him, patting his hand comfortingly. "You don't have to look." Noticing the worry on his face, she got up and took a bottle and a glass from the highest kitchen shelf. After pouring a large portion, she handed it to him.

"Drink," she insisted. Newt sniffed at the amber fluid gingerly.

"Firewhisky?" he asked, surprised.

"Drink," was all she said. She pulled out a second vial from her chest and opened it. Newt didn't know what it was, but the smell was confirmation—she only used it when he was getting sutures. Without a second thought, he downed the glass of Firewhisky in one go. At least it couldn't hurt.

"This will sting a bit," she warned before splashing the cold liquid onto his wound. He winced and bit down a cry at the intense pain, though it soon began to dull and the sensation of his skin being pulled this way and that told him she had begun.

"It's quite lucky that you know how to tend to wounds," he commented after a few minutes of silence between them.

"It's quite lucky for _you_ that I worked as a healer during the war," she corrected him, her concentration completely on his arm as she worked. "Not all of us could train dragons, you know."

Newt smiled slightly and chanced a glance over at her. Her tongue was between her teeth, her brows drawn in focus as she worked adeptly at closing the wound. When she was satisfied, she cut the string and looked up to see him watching her.

"You don't like needles," she reminded him.

"Must be the firewhisky," he replied, his eyes darting away from hers again, though he couldn't hide his small smile.

She bandaged his arm tightly and moved on to his back, applying more of the stinging liquid.

By the time she had finished stitching him up, the sun was already peeking through the curtains. The morning light brought with it a better view of the damage Newt had done to her flat.

Blood had spattered the kitchen, pooling along the hardwood floors, and staining her table. While his hands and body had been thoroughly cleansed, Elsie's hands were a deep red from his drying blood. His trousers had been soaked, and her nightgown and robe were as well. As he looked behind him, he saw the trail of blood he had left on his way through her flat and immediately felt a pang of guilt.

"I-I-" he stuttered, looking to Elsie with a devastated expression.

"Don't worry," she told him. "I'll clean up. You should get some rest." She stood from the table and washed the blood from her hands. Newt wasn't sure where to go. He couldn't exactly walk through town without a shirt, and he certainly couldn't apparate in his condition.

"Come on," Elsie insisted, after drying her hands. She beckoned him to follow her down the hall to her bedroom, where Newt once again hovered anxiously outside.

"I don't exactly have anything that would fit you," she muttered, looking through her closet. She pulled out a second night gown and held it up to him. "I suppose that will have to do." She handed it to him, smiling slightly at the astounded look on his face.

"I'll wash your trousers while you rest," she told him, and it dawned on him that he was supposed to wear her night gown. He couldn't think of anything to say in defense, so he just nodded obediently.

"Think you can manage to put it on without help?" she asked, and he nodded once more.

Several minutes later he emerged from her bedroom, wearing her nightgown and carrying his blood-soaked trousers. The kitchen had already been cleaned up; the only sign of blood was the washbasin in the sink, where a brush had already been charmed to scrub at what appeared to be Elsie's other nightgown.

"You can put them in the washbasin," Elsie called to him from outside the kitchen. After doing what she said, he followed her voice to the sitting room, where she sat curled up on a lime green loveseat.

"You can take my bed for now," she said, giving him a sweet smile. "I daresay you need the rest more than I."

"Thank you, Elsie," Newt said, suddenly feeling a rush of gratitude towards the woman. "I appreciate your help. Now, and when we were in school," he added.

"My door is always open, Newt Scamander," she told him.

"As is mine," he replied. Their eyes met for a moment, both smiling at one another, before he turned and walked back towards her bedroom, ready for some rest.

* * *

 **a/n: Please leave a review if you'd like. Next chapter will be more exciting, I promise. x**


	5. 1:34am, 1923

Camden Town, London

1:34am, 1923

Elsie rolled over in bed and stared at the clock on the bedside table. It was late, but try as she might she couldn't fall asleep. She shut her eyes tightly, willing herself to sleep, but it was no use. She sighed heavily and got out of bed. If she couldn't spend her time sleeping, she was determined to do something productive.

She left the bedroom as quietly as she could and headed to the kitchen with thoughts of warm chamomile tea and reading the newest National Healers Association journal. She put the kettle on and sat at the kitchen table with the journal.

" _National shortage of dittany continues, as Minister of Magic urges citizens to donate their personal supplies to St. Mungo's_ " read the article on page twelve. Elsie pursed her lips slightly and sighed. There wouldn't have been a shortage of dittany if field healers had been trained in its proper use during the war, she thought coldly. Now, six years after the war's end, their supplies had run dry. Everyone had viewed dittany as a miracle cure for anything from minor scrapes to major wounds, even when other methods would work just as well—or even better.

The sound of the kettle whistling broke her from her bitter thoughts and she moved the kettle to fill her mug on the kitchen table.

There was a loud pop, and before she could react, several things happened at once.

Something large and heavy fell seemingly from the ceiling and on top of her, breaking the kitchen table. The boiling hot water splashed from her mug and kettle onto her hands and chest. And something else, cold and foreign, spilled on her, following the hot water.

Elsie barely had time to register what happened when the pain began. Burning, not just from the water, but from something chemical on her hands and chest. A searing pain like she had never experienced before. With the heavy object and the remains of the table still on top of her, all she could do was cry out in pain.

"What is this?" she wailed. She freed one of her hands from the wreckage and watched as the skin began to bubble up and calcify with great, knobby boils.

The heavy object began to shift off of her with a groan, and Elsie suddenly realized that a _person_ had fallen on top of her.

"What's going on! Elsie, what happened!" A man with dark hair ran into the kitchen, still in his dressing robe. He made to help her up.

"Don't touch me!" she yelled at him. "Don't come near, someone's spilled bobatuber pus!"

"Someone…?" the man asked, then his gaze fell on the figure which had rolled off the broken table. "Who the hell is that?" he demanded.

"It's Newt," Elsie said. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened. "Dear, please, I need my bag. You need to help fix this."

Elsie managed to stand by herself and she looked down at her hands and chest. It looked like she was wearing big, ugly, flesh-coloured gloves. She tried to move her fingers, but they were too swollen to move, and the pain was nearly unbearable.

"Your hands…" the man said, looking at her worriedly.

"Please," she cut him off, trying as hard as she could to fight back tears. "My bag." He left the room and did as she asked.

Elsie moved over to where Newt Scamander had fallen. He was blinking heavily, trying to come to, and nursing a deep gouge on his left arm. His hands were also covered in boils, and by the look of it, it had also splashed onto his clothes.

"Newt, can you hear me?" Elsie tried gently.

"Elsie?" he groaned. "What happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," she told him. "Can you stand?" She didn't dare touch him, for fear of spreading more of the pus. Thankfully, he nodded, and shakily got to his feet.

"What do you need?" The dark-haired man had returned, carrying Elsie's medicine bag.

"Who's this?" Newt asked her warily.

"James, you remember Newt Scamander, don't you?" Elsie asked him.

"Oh, yes! The fellow with the leg! That's where we first met, you and I," the man said excitedly. Newt sent him a nervous look and seemed very much like he'd rather blend in with the wall. James looked like he wanted to continue talking, but Elsie shot him a look, and he shut his mouth.

"Newt, this is my husband: Dr. James Honeycutt."

Newt looked like someone had punched him in the stomach.

"Your husband?" he spluttered. "But- but-"

"Later, Newt," Elsie said severely, then turned back to James. "There's a vial in there – it's labeled – can you get it? It's –"

"Murtlap essence," Newt finished for her. Elsie shot him a look, something akin to anger, and he was surprised into silence.

"It's dittany," she finished coldly. James dug into her bag and pulled out a small vial filled with brown liquid.

"You have dittany?" Newt asked her, astonished.

"Not now, Newt," she scolded. "James, open the vial and apply two drops to each of my hands."

He did so without question. Newt watched as green smoke billowed out from where the dittany was applied. And when it cleared, Elsie's hands were healed. Raw, and slightly red, but healed. She was able to apply it to the rest of her injuries herself, and the burns and boils on her chest and face dissipated.

Then, she turned back to Newt.

"No," he told her. There was something in his eyes Elsie had never seen before; something cold and hard. His jaw was set and he was glaring at her – _actually glaring at her!_ – instead of his trademark lack of eye-contact.

"Why not?" she asked, more gently this time. "Newt, you're hurt." She moved to apply some of the potion to his hand, but he jerked back from her.

"You have dittany," he repeated. "The Ministry has requisitioned all stores of dittany, even private ones, for medical use. You're a Healer, Elsie, you should know this!"

"Medical use?" she repeated, becoming defensive. "I _am_ medical use!"

"For emergency medical use—"

"This _is_ an emergency, Newt!" Elsie snapped. "Do you think I'd use it for every bump and scrape? How do your hands feel? In a few minutes, the bobatuber pus will begin eating away at your skin until nothing is left – is that not an emergency to you?"

"There are other ways," he persisted. "Other remedies! There are people who need dittany more!"

"I work with my hands!" Elsie cried. "I need my hands, and you do, too. Even with other methods, you're looking at weeks – _weeks_ – of healing time. Not to mention the scarring!"

They seethed silently at each other, each too stubborn to back down.

"Besides, it's not like any of _this_ is legal to begin with." She gestured to him, his cuts, and bruises and for the first time, Newt averted his gaze. Elsie took the chance to get closer to him.

"Do you want my help or not?" she asked quietly. Eventually, Newt met her eyes once more and nodded. He was back to the meek Hufflepuff she had always known. She applied a few drops of dittany to his injuries, even the cut on his arm.

When he was healed, he collapsed onto a chair at the kitchen table, exhausted, while Elsie used her wand to clear the rest of the mess his entrance had created.

"Tea?" James Honeycutt handed him a cup and sat down at the table beside him. Both watched Elsie clean in silence.

Once she was finished, she sat at the table, too. James brought her a cup of tea, and she sipped at it gingerly.

"What happened this time?" she asked Newt, breaking the silence. "Another Ukrainian Ironbelly?"

"It was a kneazle," he admitted. Elsie put her tea nearly dropped her tea.

"A kneazle?" she asked. "How did a kneazle do that to you?"

"Well, it sort of…lunged at me, and I fell on a bicorn horn, and knocked over the jar of bobatuber pus, and... Why are you laughing?"

Elsie couldn't help it. All of the drama, all of the frustration and the row and the mess, all because of a kneazle. It wasn't even a particularly dangerous creature.

"After three years of nothing," she said, wiping away tears of mirth, "you finally come to me because of a kneazle."

Newt frowned at her. "No, not three years," he muttered. "It can't have been that long. Can it?"

Elsie stopped laughing. "Newt, the last time anyone's heard from you was when I saw you: the Ukrainian Ironbelly incident in 1920."

"I'm going to let you two sort this out for yourselves," James said loudly, excusing himself from the room. "It was nice to see you again, Newt Scamander. Els, let me know if you need anything else tonight."

"Do you need Dreamless Sleep?" she called after him.

"No," he responded. "Just a good night's sleep." The door to their bedroom closed, and Newt and Elsie were left alone.

"You got married," Newt said, deadpan. Elsie shifted uncomfortably in her chair and sipped her tea to avoid answering.

"We invited you to the wedding," she told him. "Of course, you didn't reply." She stood and took a picture frame down from the wall and handed it to him.

One side of the frame held an invitation. In curly script on an ivory card it read, "You are invited to celebrate the marriage of Benjamin James Honeycutt and Eloise Clothilde DuBois." The other side of the frame held a picture of the couple, Elsie in white, James in a suit, both beaming and waving at him before kissing each other.

"What does he do?" Newt found himself asking, looking at the dark-haired couple.

"He's a doctor – a Muggle Healer. He works at St. Bart's." When Newt made no gesture of recognition, Elsie added, "It's a Hospital. He was going to work on you when you were in France during the war, remember?"

"I try not to, if I can help it," he responded with a grimace. Elsie decided to drop the subject. She didn't want to think about the war, either."

"You missed your brother's wedding, too," Elsie told him gently when he handed the picture back to her.

"I've been…busy," he mumbled, not meeting her gaze. "My research, my creatures – they've taken up a lot of time. And besides," he added after a moment's pause, "I'm sure Theseus didn't miss me."

The two friends sat in silence for a few minutes, drinking their tea.

"He's changed, you know," Elsie said eventually. "Theseus, I mean. He married one of my nurses, Eudora Fawley. She's a sweet girl, Newt, and he loves her very much."

Newt refused to meet her eyes, either out of embarrassment or anger, Elsie couldn't tell. Still, she decided to press on.

"You should go and visit them," she suggested. "Now that you're back in town, at least. I'm sure they would be happy to see you."

"I'll go visit them on my own time, thank you," Newt said shortly. He drained his tea and placed his teacup rather forcefully on the table. Elsie stared at him in surprise.

"It was only a suggestion, Newt," she told him. "I'm trying to help."

"I don't need you to tell me what to do when it comes to Theseus," he said sourly. He stared at his teacup, but his jaw was set and his hands were in fists.

"Fine," Elsie said. She stood from the table and glared down at him. There was a lump forming in her throat, and the corners of her eyes pricked with frustrated tears. What had happened to her friend? What had happened to Newt?

"I'm not sure if you're angry because I'm married, or angry that your brother is, too, but you can't disappear for three years and expect everything to remain the same!" she cried. "Life doesn't stop for anyone, Newt Scamander; especially not for you."

With that, she took both of their teacups to the sink and rinsed them. "You can stay here the rest of the night if you need to," she told him, thankful that her back was turned to him to hide her tears. "As I've always said, my door is open, and my couch is free."

She could barely stand to look at him again, but she managed to give him a watery smile without breaking into tears. "Goodnight, Newt," she said. For the first time in several minutes, their eyes met. But before he could say anything, she had swept back into her bedroom, leaving him alone in the kitchen with his thoughts and his guilt.

When Elsie woke up the next morning, Newt was already gone. All that was left was a scrap of parchment on the kitchen table that read, in messy script, _Thanks_.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! x**


End file.
